My Royal Pain
by Professor Maka
Summary: Maka Albarn is just your average overachieving college student-save for the fact that she's the hired companion of one Soul Evans, music major, slacker, and second born Prince of Lichtenstein. Modern College/Royalty AU collection. In the latest, Maka finds fanfiction featuring Soul and finds out that not all fic is good fic.
1. Just Another Morning

**A/N: This is the start of a collection. Drabbles will not necessarily be in order, but they will all be set in this AU. **

* * *

A new semester, a new day of work. It wasn't her dream job, but it was paying her way through school, so she couldn't really complain.

When Maka had been called the summer after high school and offered an interview for a position she'd never applied to, she'd almost hung up, figuring it was a hoax-but curiosity had gotten the better of her, so she'd agreed to meet with the man who claimed to be the ambassador from Lichtenstein. It would be in a highly public place, so what harm? If he was a crazy, which she figured he must be, she'd just call the cops.

Then Maka had seen the limo and police escort parked in front of the small cafe near her house and had nearly fainted.

Turned out the man who called her really was the ambassador from Lichtenstein, and ten minutes into their lunch interview, he offered her a job-the strangest job Maka had ever heard of. She was to be the companion to the younger son of the King, who was slated to go to college at Shibusen University just as she was. They would pay for the apartment she was to share with him, pay her tuition and other expenses, pay her a healthy salary. All she had to do was live in the apartment and make sure he was going to class and help him study and hang out with him. Basically, her job was to be his shadow, a glorified babysitter.

"I don't understand," she had told the ambassador, a thirty something man in an expensive suit named Joseph Buttataki. "Why me?"

BJ, as he'd insisted she call him, leaned back, looking thoughtful. "Why not you?" he asked at last.

"That's not an answer."

"That's exactly why you." He smiled knowingly and her frown depended. "You're smart-valedictorian of your class. And strong-state champion in the MMA tournament for your age and weight class. We believe you would be the ideal companion for the Prince, who refuses any sort of security detail or preferment. He chose the university and insists on living through a normal college experience. He did reluctantly agree to a hired companion, so your job will to keep him safe and on track. That is, should you choose to accept it, and I _do_ hope you will. It would make both of their Majesties feel much better about this entire unorthodox situation for the Prince to have such a capable companion. Though I should probably warn you before you decide-Prince Solon can be… difficult."

Maka had wanted to refuse, she really had, because babysitting some stubborn, spoiled blue blood was not how she had intended to spend her college years. A prince-it was like some stupid cosmic joke. But Maka was far too smart, too practical, to refuse an offer that would benefit her so completely, so she hadn't.

"I think I can handle difficult," she answered after a thoughtful pause.

"Does this mean you accept?" BJ's look was almost comically hopeful.

She swallowed, nodded, forced a smile, and held out a hand to shake on it. "I guess you have yourself a royal companion." That moment had led her here and now, trying to pry said royal out of bed on the first day of their sixth semester. Lazy fucking bastard.

She'd given up trying to shake him and was currently straddling him where he was burritoed firmly in the covers, a fluffy white tuft of hair just barely peeking out the top of his thick red comforter. Soul (the nickname he went by-he insisted Solon was lame) never had been a morning person.

"Get." Maka whacked where his head should be. "Up." Whack. "You." Whack. "Royal." Whack. "Pain." Whack. "In the ass!" Whack.

"Hey-HEY-alright, jeezus!" Soul sat up, and as the covers fell from his face, she could see his sharp scowl, his red eyes blearily trained on her own. "Thought you were supposed to protect me, not try to fuckin' kill me."

"I'm trying to make sure we get to class on time, which we won't if you don't get dressed _now_. And no you can't shower-you lost time for that when you didn't get up the first half dozen times I tried. Maybe next time you'll think twice before staying up until 5 playing Halo with Star, eh?"

"This is an I told you so, isn't it?" His scowl deepened.

"Yep!" she said brightly. "Now hurry or your crepes will be cold."

"You made breakfast?" He blinked at her, surprised.

"Don't I always the first day of the semester?"

"Yeah" His smile was so fond it made her feel warm. "Guess you do."

That's when she realized she was basically sitting in his lap, and went ahead and scrambled back and off. "I'll just-uh-leave. So you can get dressed."

And with that, she slunk out of the room.

Five minutes later, they were both at the breakfast table, him in rumpled jeans and a band t shirt, her in her own pair of jeans and a fitted green sweater-it was winter and, even in the desert, that meant it was chilly. Soul ate his crepes with relish-if he had ever had manners, and he must have, he'd clearly left them at the door when he moved in with her. Most of the time, Maka forgot he was actually a prince, and when she remembered, she tended to mentally label him the anti-prince, her own private joke. He was very un prince like, as cliches went, though there were times when she caught glimpses of his high class upbringing-how daintily he held a coffee cup, or how he sometimes forgot to slouch and sat up a bit too straight-and she couldn't help but to wonder how much of his college cool guy persona was him just letting go and how much was him forcing himself to be the normal twenty year old he so desperately wished he really was. Maka figured it was probably a little of both.

Of course, Soul had changed from when they first met, as it was inevitable he would. He hadn't known how to do a single domestic thing in the beginning, and as she'd made clear from day one, she was his companion and protector, not his maid, so if he wanted to be a normal college student, he'd best do normal chores. She'd had to teach him how to do the simplest things, had to constantly remind him that, no, a maid would not be around to pick that up later. Now when he left his shit on the floor, and he did often enough, she knew it was laziness rather than cluelessness, and the resultant punches to the arm were completely justified.

Soul would sometimes tell her she was committing royal abuse at that, to which Maka always just made a face and told him he was welcome to ask for a new companion if he didn't like it. He never never did.

As they ate their crepes, lukewarm at best, in companionable silence, as she watched him inhale his food with gusto, Maka couldn't help but to be grateful for him, for all of this. At first, it had just been a damned good situation for her, but after two and a half years of living together, studying together, sharing their problems, their meals, taking care of each other when they were sick, or drunk, or just depressed-well, somewhere along the way, he had evolved from being her responsibility to her friend, and it was hard to think that there would be a time when Soul would go back home to be a prince again and leave her here alone. She didn't like to think about it.

When the time came, she would face it. Maka had had a life before him, plans, ambitions. Surely she could manage when he was gone.

He finished and got up, rinsing his plate to put in the dishwasher. She did the same, and after taking turns in the bathroom, they donned coats and she grabbed her keys.

Soul scoffed at that. "Just what do you think you're doing?"

"Getting ready to go?" she asked, puzzled.

"My turn to drive, bookworm. You drove all finals' week."

"You really want to drive your death trap in the cold?"

"Yup."

"Whatever," she sighed out. "But I swear to you when you kill me on that thing, my Papa will probably sue the whole country of Liechtenstein into oblivion."

"Good." He smirked. "Ready?"

Her answer was to open the door, and soon enough, they were on his gigantic orange monstrosity of a bike-she would never understand how he had convinced BJ to obtain it for him-tearing down the two mile stretch to campus.

She was plastered to his back as she typically was, because he drove way too fast. There were days she thought he did it on purpose, not just to feel the wind as he always claimed, but to feel _her_. Probably that was wishful thinking, though, so she tended to ignore the thought when it occurred.

They parted ways once she walked him to the music building, agreeing to meet for lunch after their morning class, and Maka found herself excited, as she always was, for the new semester.

By the time she trudged her way to the Student Union, she was decidedly less excited. Both classes she'd attended were interesting, and she'd liked Eighteenth-century lit class well enough, but the Forensics professor was a close friend of her dad's and an impossible combination of hardass and weirdo. She really wasn't looking forward to a whole semester with a guy who kept reminding her he'd helped change her diapers.

Scanning through the crowd, Maka finally spotted a white mop of hair in the corner of the room-Soul was never hard to pick out of a crowd with that odd yet natural color (as she'd discovered when he had taken to mucking about the apartment in only boxers or sleep pants, exposing his rather toned, tanned torso like a dangling carrot of never gonna happen, the happy trail, at least, matched the drapes). He had on his comically oversized and probably ridiculously expensive headphones, oblivious to the world with his eyes closed and feet propped up on the table. Gods he was such a lazy, disrespectful shit sometimes.

She weaved her way over and, figuring he deserved a little shock, plopped down forcefully into his lap, causing him to nearly topple over in the chair as his eyes flew open. "Goddamnit Maka, you almost gave me a heart attack."

She was too busy laughing to care and he just shook his head and growled. Then she realized Soul hadn't shoved her off his lap like she'd expected but was just staring, face inches from her own, red eyes watching her intently, so she scrambled off and stood up, covering her own embarrassment by cocking her hands on her hips as she loomed over him.

"So, the usual, or are we gonna be adventurous this semester?" she asked, the teasing tone a bit forced.

"Well, _you're_ clearly adventurous today, but I'm still feeling cheese and pepperoni."

"Fine by me." She shrugged. "I'll go get it. Be back in a few."

He surprised her by grabbing her wrist. "Nah, I got it. Sit. I'll be right back."

Well wasn't he being the uncharacteristic gentleman today. He'd either had a really bad first day or a really good one, and she couldn't quite tell which yet beneath that mask of apathy. She settled into the chair across from the one he'd vacated, plopping her book bag down next to her carelessly and sighing as she pillowed her head on her forearms. Maka felt far more tired than she should, but she supposed the emotional strain of dealing with a near relative as a teacher for two hours would do that. Plus, she hadn't been sleeping well, and that always left her tired.

She didn't realize she'd dozed off until she felt his hand, warm on her shoulder, heard his voice, soft in her ear, felt his breath, hot against her neck.

"Wha?" She sat up straight and blinked.

"I said, I can't believe Maka Albarn, top of her class, member of every honor society ever invented, just fell asleep in the U," he quipped as he stood and slid into the chair across from her, a pizza sitting hot and gooey between them. The smell was heavenly, and her stomach rumbled in reminder that it was actually lunch time.

"You must be rubbing off on me, what can I say." She offered with a yawn before grabbing for a slice and claiming one of the two sodas.

"I'd like to rub off on you," he replied, waggling his eyebrows.

"Yeah, yeah, you wish," she grumbled. Would be nice if he meant it, but much as he liked to screw with her, he had zero interest in actually screwing her. When she'd first been introduced to him, he had groaned to BJ (as if she hadn't been right there) that he didn't want some tiny tits bookworm tagging along wherever he went, making it painfully obvious that she wasn't his type. Not that she'd wanted to be, not then. Hell, Maka really shouldn't want to be now, but she couldn't help it. Sometime between then and now, the lazy, sarcastic anti-royal idiot had wormed his way into her very soul. Really, this job was the best thing that had ever happened to her-but it was probably also the worst when it came right down to it since it was only temporary.

"Seriously, though." He frowned at her as he took a slice and a soda himself. "Are you okay?" The unadulterated concern in his voice made her feel warm.

"'M fine, just tired," she said around a bite of hot gooey heaven.

"Ohhhh-kay," he said with a small eyeroll, unconvinced but unwilling to push. "Annnnyway," he continued. "How're your classes so far?"

"Alright," she said with a small shrug. "I like English, but Forensics is-" she couldn't even say it, just sighed.

"Is-what?"

"Okay, well, remember that time we went to lunch with my Papa and he brought his friend?"

"He's brought a lot of-"

"His _male_ friend," she cut him off.

"Oh, yeah, that guy was-yeah."

"Well, _that guy _is the forensics professor."

"Ohhhhhh," he said. "Sorry."

"I'll live." She sighed again. "So what about you? How was music theory?"

"Boring, cliche, basic," he ground out. "At least it should be easy."

"Well, that's something," she offered, trying to be positive, because Soul tended to be negative enough for both of them.

"Whatever. Did see something interesting on my way here, though." There was something in his face and voice she rarely saw directed at her, the barest thread of anxiety beneath the apathy, and she wondered where this was headed.

"Oh?" She raised both eyebrows before taking another bite of pizza.

"Yeah. Spring Fling is in six weeks."

"And that's interesting _how_, exactly? Because this is our third year, and Spring Fling is every March, and this is the first time-"

"Thought it might be interesting to actually _go_ this year," he cut her off, waving a dismissive hand.

"_You _want to go to the Spring formal?" Her eyebrows were approaching her hairline, her voice desert dry. Clearly music theory had fried what little brain he had left or else he'd been replaced with the Stepford version of himself sometime between this morning and now.

He shrugged indifferently, as if it were a silly question. "Why not?"

"Seriously, who are you and what have you done with the real Soul Evans?"

He laughed. "He's in my closet, chained, naked, and living off scraps. Seriously, though, will you go with me or what?"

"You want me to be your _date_?"

"You're my companion-I have to go with you one way or the other. It's not a date. Asking is just a courtesy."

"Right," she sighed, stifling the disappointment she shouldn't be feeling. "But-why _now_? You've never wanted to go to anything like this-hell-you always bitch that you hate parties. I don't get it."

"Welllll," he said, picking at the pepperoni on his pizza. "I was thinking about it, and I figured if I'm here to get the real college experience, I should probably do this type of shit at least once-plus it'd be sort of interesting to see how the other half do the whole 'formal' deal, so I decided why the fuck not. So you're in?"

"You just made it clear I have no choice," she said flatly.

"I was being an ass. You don't have to go, but I'd rather not go stag-it'd be nice to have a friend with me."

God, when he looked at her so warmly, the apathy gone just for that instant, how could she say no? "Yeah, yeah, alright, we'll go."

"Awesome!" His grin was broad and genuine, his too sharp teeth gleaming, and it did funny things to her insides. "You won't regret it! And don't worry, it'll be no skin off your ass. I'll arrange everything. I'll even take care of the dress."

"I think I can manage my own dress," she scoffed.

"Maka-I saw what you wore to the Honor Society Dinner. You _really_ can't. Aside from which-I don't want this to be a pain in the ass for you. I'll arrange it, alright?"

"Whatever," she agreed, resigned.

"Great!" he said, and he looked so damned happy that she couldn't help but smile herself. It was rare to see Soul excited about anything, really, but he seemed genuinely excited about this. Well, he was interested in pop culture and the like since he'd been pretty sheltered in his life before-she supposed it made an odd sort of sense he'd be curious about even something like this.

If she was honest, and Maka tended to be honest, she was pretty excited herself at the thought of going to Spring Fling with him. There would be music, and dancing, and friends-it was just the type of thing she enjoyed every now and again. And the thought of dancing with him made her feel warm all over again.

She wondered suddenly if Soul actually _would_ dance. He always told her he hated it, and the few times they'd been places where there was dancing, he'd begged off. Yet here he was, practically insisting they go to a dance.

"I do have a condition," she blurted suddenly.

"Huh? Condition?" His eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"To go to the Spring Fling. You have to agree to dance at least once. It's silly to go to a dance and not actually dance after all."

He looked at her for a long moment, face expressionless, then shrugged. "One dance won't kill me. Fine." He then shoved a slice of pizza in his mouth to take a ridiculously oversized bite, but she was pretty sure she caught the beginnings of a smile.

She was pretty happy at the whole concept herself, so she swallowed down more of her own pizza and tried not to dwell on how much she was looking forward to the Spring Fling.


	2. The Prince of Geeks

**A/N: This was written for the first day of SoMa week 2015, Geeking Out. Thanks go to l0chn3ss and ilaural for the eyes. The events of this fic all occur prior to the main events of the first drabble.**

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When Maka met Prince Solon of Lichtenstein, she wasn't quite sure what to expect. Stuck up and stuffy? Aloof and reserved? Flirty and charming? The stereotypes of Princes she'd encountered were few and far between and mostly came from fairy tales and Disney movies.

Whatever she was expecting, Soul had proven to be none of those things.

The first time she met him was was the day she moved into the off campus apartment they were slated to share. It was in a nicer complex than she could have paid for on her own, but by no means posh; not only would a truly upscale place have been difficult to find so close to campus, but apparently, Solon had insisted on living in the same housing inhabited by regular students, and this fit the bill. It was among the nicest of the complexes that rented to students, but it still wasn't outside the bounds of normal.

Maka thought it was about perfect. If only it didn't require her to act as a live-in babysitter to some royal brat going through an identity crisis, it would be wholly perfect, but at least she was being well compensated for her trouble. She only hoped this Solon wasn't as big an ass as she feared he might be.

Well, she supposed she would find out soon enough; he was due to move in himself tomorrow.

As she drove up to the complex in her tiny, late model Honda, a reluctantly accepted graduation gift from her dad, she spotted the large black and silver moving van and smiled. BJ was certainly doing his darndest to make things as easy on her as possible, including hiring movers to take care of transporting her things, and she had to admit she was grateful. Apparently, being employed by the rulers of Liechtenstein had its perks.

She got out of her car, locking it behind her. There was an odd looking man leaned up against a garish orange beast of a motorcycle similarly staring at the van as she made her way over, but she ignored him; talking to scene kid goth wannabes was not on her agenda today, and anyone who bleached their hair white, sported a headband, and dressed in black leather in the middle of summer definitely fit that description.

Finding a tall, blonde woman with a clipboard standing near the rear of the van and dressed in a uniform that announced her affiliation with Death City Movers, Maka approached with a cheerful greeting.

"Can I help you?" The woman asked, neither pleasant nor rude.

"Well, possibly," Maka offered, "you see, I'm Maka Albarn, and I believe those are my things you're moving."

"Ah, yes, Miss Albarn! Perfect, we were just getting to your things. Mr. Evan's things have already been settled, and we could use your input."

"Mr-Evans?" She furrowed her eyebrows involuntarily, confused. It sounded naggingly familiar, but-

"That's right," she heard a deep voice say from just behind her. "Soul Evans. And you must be Maka Albarn, right?"

Maka whirled to find the wannabe scene kid approaching, hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders slouched. His eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses, which made sense given the bright sun overhead. More sense than the leather jacket and tattered jeans, certainly.

"That's...right," she said slowly. And then it clicked. Evans. As in Prince Solon of the House of Evans, her soon to be _job_. "_You're_ the Prince?" she asked, unable to keep the incredulity from her tone, because what sort of Prince looked like-like-_that_?

Not that she had much room to talk in short jean cut offs and a purple tank top, but it was _hot,_ and she hadn't been expecting to see anyone important, and she certainly wasn't anything approaching royalty.

He only shrugged noncommittally. Were princes even _allowed_ to shrug? Perhaps Maka was mistaken, or maybe this was some sort of joke. Yet, when she noticed BJ approaching from behind Mr. Motorcycle Goth Boy, she knew there was no mistake and certainly no joke.

To say she was surprised was a bit of an understatement; the prince was supposed to be arriving the following day and looked about as much like a prince as she looked like the Queen of England. Maka turned her eyes in clear question to BJ, who was now standing beside Prince Solon.

"Good morning, Miss Albarn," he said cheerfully. "I trust you are well?"

"Oh, yes, very," she offered with a polite smile. "Though I wasn't expecting to meet my assignment so soon," she added.

"Mmm, yes. His Highness decided to take an earlier flight-we're adjusting." His voice was cheerful, if the slightest bit exasperated. "I suppose introductions are in order? Alright, then. Miss Maka Albarn, this is His Royal Highness Solon Xavier Alistair Ulrich Ignatius Hapsburg Evans, second Prince of Liechtenstein. Prince Solon Xavier Alistair Ulrich Ignatius Hapsburg Evans, second Prince of Liechtenstein, this is Miss Maka Albarn."

"Pleased to-"

"Soul," he corrected, cutting her off, "your new roommate." His attention was on her for less than a second before he whirled on BJ. "This is bullshit, Buttataki. Utter bullshit. I don't need some tiny tits bookworm tagging along wherever I go. We can be roommates, fine, great, but I can take care of my-"

"Oh that's fine, your Highness. If you don't want Miss Albarn with you, then I'll be happy to leave a few guards."

"You wouldn't-"

"I will, Highness, and with you parents' full authority. Miss Albarn is capable in spite of your-misgivings-and you will remain with her when she is not in class or I _will_ make other arrangements, your choice. Your detail from this morning can as easily stay on permanently."

"Fuck," the Prince growed, but nodded. "Fine, you win, I'll stick with Tiny Tits."

Maka bristled under the moniker but said nothing.

"And I trust you will inform me if he gives you any trouble, Miss Albarn?"

She nodded. "You have my word."

"Excellent!" The ambassador clapped his hands together. "Miss Arisa will help you get settled-the movers have their instructions. I'll be in touch!" he said enthusiastically before spinning on his heel to go, clearly glad to be washing his hands of his Liege Lord for the time being. Maka watched in silence as the Ambassador from Lichtenstein disappeared behind the other side of the complex, only to see a limo and several black cars drive around and disappear after.

Apparently, she was now alone with Prince Charming. Lovely. Gritting her teeth at the thought, she turned to the woman with the clipboard.

"You need anything from me?" she asked, trying to keep the annoyance from her tone. Maka really shouldn't have been this annoyed, but being called Tiny Tits by Prince Emo-boy was grating.

The woman shoved the clipboard her way, clearly ready to move on with her day. "Just look this over and make sure the right things are slated for the right rooms."

"Sure," Maka offered mildly as she took the clipboard and scanned its contents. Everything looked in order except...

"No, the large bookshelves are supposed to go in the living room, not whatever this space you've designated as S is." She looked up as she handed the clipboard back. "Otherwise, it's fine."

The woman frowned. "I am sorry, but they won't fit any longer with Mr. Evans 85 inch flatscreen we installed earlier, so we've put them in the spare room. Mr. Buttataki mentioned it was to be set up as a study, seeing as the two of you are attending the university, so I assumed-"

"Wait-there's a _third_ bedroom?" Maka asked, surprised.

"That's right. There are only a few in the entire complex, according to the landlord. You two are lucky to get one."

"I guess-that's alright, then," she said with a sigh. "Thanks. I'll come back in a couple hours-will you be done by then?"

"We should be close," clipboard woman-Arisa-said with a nod. "Thanks for your input, Miss Albarn."

"Mmm, I'll be back," Maka offered evenly as she began to walk away. Inside, she was was seething, desperately trying to keep her cool. Nice as the idea of a study space was, how _dare_ he usurp her prized books for some electronic monstrosity! BJ had assured her this would be as much_ her_ home as _his_, and yet, already that had been exposed as a lie.

She really shouldn't call and yell at the man who was essentially her new boss or her new charge who was also something like a boss, but this was beyond unfair. Clearly, frustratingly, she and the Prince were already getting off on the wrong foot, yet they were slated to live and spend most of their time together for the next four years. Better to walk away now and make a fresh start of it when she was calm. Clenching her fists, she approached her car, surprised at the sound of footsteps behind her.

_Why in the world would he follow her_? Couldn't he take a bloody hint that she needed space to gather her wits?

Maka took a deep breath and whirled around to face him. "Your Highness, I do apologize, but I have some errands to run, so if you'll please excuse me-"

"Look, I'd prefer you didn't use all that formal crap and just call me Soul." He had pushed his dark glasses onto his head, and his eyes were nearly pleading as they met hers. Red. His eyes were the most deep, astonishing shade of red. He wore colored contacts, too? What was _with_ this guy? "And actually.." he moved his eyes to look past her rather than at her, hands still shoved into his pockets. "You heard BJ-I have to stick with you if I wanna lose the entourage, and trust me, he'll know if I don't. So-yeah. Kinda sorta stuck." He had a very slight, lilting accent beneath the casual tone, and she couldn't help but to wonder how hard he was working to sound 'normal.'

"I-" Maka shook her head, words failing her. He had the nerve to call her Tiny Tits and to tell the movers what to do with _her stuff,_ to usurp the presence of her prized possessions from their shared living room, and now he expected to shadow her?

Oh _hell_ no.

And yet, she was trapped and he clearly knew it. He was her _job_ now. It was either he come along, or she didn't go at all-not that she actually had a place she needed to be-more like she needed to get away from the situation, from him.

Well, crap.

She approached her little Honda and opened the driver side door to slide inside and put the key in the ignition before swiveling her head to note he had stopped and was staring through the passenger window with a blank expression. She rolled down the window.

"Are you coming?" she asked, working to keep her tone even.

"Uh, in_ that_?" the distaste in his own tone was palpable.

"It's this or walk, and I don't-"

"What about my bike?" He nodded back to the orange monstrosity he'd been lounging against earlier.

"I think not." She tried not to show her own distaste, but she was a poor actress. "Look, either get in or call back you guards-but hurry and make a choice, because I-"

"Fine," he said with the most put upon sigh Maka had ever heard, before opening the passenger door and sliding in. He acted as though riding in her little Civic was the most tedious possible chore. The thought that, for someone like him, maybe it actually _was_ did nothing to endear him to her.

She started the car and put it into drive, not even bothering to make sure he put on a seatbelt-her babysitting duties did not extend to personal safety equipment, she decided-before pulling out of the parking lot and onto the large road that ran past campus. In truth, it was mid summer, their first semester not beginning for weeks yet, so she had nothing pressing to do. She was ditching the one item on her agenda for the day just in doing this, but she was too stubborn to admit to her new, painfully silent charge, that she had lied.

"You hungry?" she asked after several minutes of just driving, inspiration striking fast and hot.

"Yeah," he said, his deep voice quiet.

"You like Japanese? Because there's a great-"

"I'll eat wherever you see fit to bring us, Miss Albarn." The lazy drawl, the casual tone were gone, replaced with an accent that was vaguely British sounding.

Could this be the same boy?

"You can call me Maka," she offered, softening her tone, because she really didn't want to be at odds with the guy she'd be spending nearly every waking moment with if she could help it. "And I'm willing to go wherever you'd like."

He turned towards her, and while his face was impassive, his eyes suggested something like gratitude.

"I like sushi," he offered, his accent disappearing again to be replaced with the deep casual tone and slight underlying lilt.

"Alright, then," she said with a smile, before guiding the car to the proper venue. She had to turn back towards the campus, the little Japanese place just outside, but pulled up shortly after. They had nothing seemingly to say to one another beyond setting their eating arrangements, so they simply didn't.

Prince Solon-no, Soul, he wanted her to call him Soul-wasn't kidding when he said he liked sushi; he special ordered a dozen individual items to his liking, including tako. Just looking at his plate of raw gross as it arrived had Maka's stomach churning, so she kept her eyes firmly on her own plate of onigiri and tsukemono as they ate in near silence that was becoming almost heavy as it extended. Onigiri always reminded her of her mother, though, and as her heart constricted painfully at the thought, she finally broke through that wall of silence if only to have something else to focus on.

"So," Maka began, looking his way and waiting until he met her gaze to continue, "why Shibusen? I would have thought, given your circumstances, you'd choose an Ivy if you really wanted to study in the U.S."

His shrug was non-committal at best. "Dunno. Liked the brochure I guess. Why'd you pick it?"

"Best forensic program in the country, unfortunately. Both of my parents were graduates, and as much as I really wanted to put a few thousand miles between me and my dad, it made the most sense to go to Shibusen, so here I am."

"Forensics, huh?" He looked surprised, stark eyebrows grazing his hairline.

"Mmhmm," she smiled. "And English. I plan to double major. What about you?"

"Not sure," he shrugged again. "Figure I'll work it out eventually."

"Mmm," she nodded. "I'm sure you will."

She had little else to say to that-the very idea a prince would come overseas to Shibusen of all places with no firm goal in mind more than a bit absurd.

Then again, with his odd features, choosing to alter his hair and eyes, along with his lax attitude, Soul seemed the furthest thing from a prince she had ever imagined.

_Then_ _again_, Maka suspected that was the whole point. He really _was_ an odd one, and, inspite of his rudeness, or maybe even because of it, she mildly looked forward to unraveling the puzzle that was Prince Solon of Liechtenstein.

Their conversation seemingly through for the time being, the awkward silence resettled as both turned their attention with unwarranted vigor back to their food. After a minute, however, Soul surprised her by speaking unbidden.

"I'm sorry, you know," he began, and she simply raised her eyebrows in question. "About calling you-uh-yeah." He looked suddenly nervous. Strange. "And about your books. I just-I thought it'd be nice to have a good set-up to screen movies in the living room, and the study seems better for books. Didn't mean to overstep."

"No," she shook her head, surprised that he would apologize at all, especially after so brazenly insulting her in front of her face-weren't royals supposed to hold others beneath them or something along those lines? Divine birth right and all that? Not that she really knew much about royalty; she'd certainly never come within a thousand miles of an actual prince before meeting Soul. "It's fine. I know it's an adjustment for both of us, and I-overreacted-I was just surprised. It'll be nice to have a study with all my books."

"Awesome," he grinned, seeming genuinely pleased. It was the first time he'd actually smiled, and she noted that in addition to the strange contacts and hair, he had teeth so sharp that they had to be either false or filed. She was itching to ask about the whole goth-vamp look, but figured that was probably overstepping herself. "That can be _your_ place, you know? We can even get more shelves... BJ said you like books."

"I do!" she brightened, buoyed by her favorite subject. "Books can take you anywhere, teach you anything! It's why I-"

He laughed at that, shaking his head. "Damn, you really are a nerd, aren't you? Sheesh-leave it to BJ to dig up the world's first bookworm bodyguard."

Her fingers clenched, itching to sock him, hard, like she would have her idiot godbrother in the same situation. This was the _second time _he'd insulted her in less than an hour, and Maka Albarn was _not_ one to sit back and take whatever shit she was fed by the world at large. She tried to remind herself that injuring her charge the first day on the job was probably a bad idea, but it was hard when he was smirking at her like the cat who got the cream.

"Whatever, your Heinous," she snapped unhappily before shoving more onigiri in her mouth.

He just laughed again and they finished their meal with more alternating talk and teasing, much to Maka's displeasure.

It was the start of a long, not always smooth working partnership, for with the time they spent together, what else could they be but partners?

Eventually, she learned not to pull her punches, to simply sock him in the arm when he was being an ass.

Eventually, she also learned that he didn't wear contacts or bleach his hair, and that his teeth were natural-though, at least initially, she suspected he was the type to sport such garish alterations had he not come by them through genetic lottery.

Perhaps most importantly, though, was that _eventually_, she also confirmed that she wasn't the only nerd in the Evans-Albarn household. Far from it. Books might be her geekdom of choice, but Soul had his own obsession, one that had supplanted her books, one that had brought him to the United States to begin with.

Maka loved books, but Soul? Soul lived for movies. Movies of all kinds: fantasy, action, even rom coms (though he would vehemently deny the last if asked.) The products of Hollywood were how he had learned about the world at large amidst an otherwise sheltered existence, how he had taught himself to speak, to act as he wished instead of comporting himself in the way his family expected him to, how he had formed his expectations about life outside his gilded cage.

Before, Soul had always, _always_ watched films in the screening room of the Palace where he'd grown up, a fact he'd eventually let slip as the weeks became months, as he and Maka slowly grew accustomed to one another and eased into something like friendship. The concept of a movie theater, one where people sat together to watch films with strangers, was both foreign and fascinating to him, and he kept pestering Maka to go, and she kept finding excuses not to. He had a huge system in the living room that had usurped her poor books, she insisted-they could stay home.

And then he saw the hype about _The Winter Soldier _on the news, and there was no stopping him. For while Soul loved all manner of films, there was nothing, absolutely _nothing_, he loved more than a good superhero movie, a fact she'd become all too aware of after their sixth screening of _The Avengers._ He was a man obsessed.

So seeing that people were camped out to get advanced tickets for _The Winter Soldier_-seeing that there was a midnight screening on Good Friday-well, _not going_ simply wasn't an option in the Prince's mind. He'd never been to a normal movie theater, and he was clearly determined his first time would be done right.

He was sitting watching a report about the lines that had formed to buy tickets on the news two days before the premier, and she was sitting near him on the couch, pointedly ignoring him, eyes on the book in her lap, when his it all came to a head.

"Please?" Soul wheedled.

"No," she snapped back.

"But there's no school on Friday," he reasoned.

"But I have a test on Monday."

"But I'll do the dishes for a week." Maka paused at that, considering.

"I don't believe you," she finally responded.

"I will, or you know, I'll pay someone to do it."

She rolled her eyes. "Not the same."

"Fine, I'll-" Maka looked up at the pause and noticed him biting his lip in concentration. She _really_ wished she found it less attractive, and was exceptionally glad her thoughts were her own. "Uh, rub your feet after training for a month?"

"After _every_ training?" She raised an eyebrow, finally turning her head to face him. "Even kick boxing?" Because her feet always smelled like rotting Munster after kick boxing, and they both knew it.

There was a pause and a light huff. "Yeaaaah. Even kick boxing."

She sighed. "Fine, I'll think about it, alright?"

"Awesome-just leave it to me!"

"Yeah, whatever-" she said, the second sigh heavier as she returned to her reading of _The History of Sexuality. _

Turned out, she didn't think about it-she completely forgot about it. Until, that is, Maka was passed out early on the couch Friday night, her ass utterly wrecked from sparring with her godbrother. When had he learned how to land so many punches on her? Was she getting slow, or had he just gotten _that fast? _

Thoughts of their brutal match had lulled her to sleep right after dinner at six, a frozen affair after getting a text from Soul that he was out with BJ's blessing and would be back later.

At nine, she was surprised by a hand on her shoulder, shaking, shaking, shaking, a gruff voice softly repeating her name. She struck out blindly because _who was touching her?_-only to be fully awoken by a familiar yelp of pain. She sat up and blinked down at the floor to find Captain America in full regalia. Only this version of Cap was in possession of piercing red eyes, eyes that were currently glaring her way.

"Shit, Maka, that _hurt_. I think you broke my fucking jaw."

"You'll be fine, get some ice," she said with a deep yawn, stretching her hands over her head. "You aren't made of glass-or at least, you weren't last time I checked."

He grunted and walked over to the fridge and, as he did, her tired brain clicked into gear and she shook her head.

"Soul?" she called out.

"What?" he growled back, strolling over with a bag of frozen peas mashed to his chin.

"Why-are you dressed that way?"

He plopped down next to her and his grin was wide. "Don't worry, got you one, too. It's in your room."

"You-did?" She blinked, shaking her head. "But-I mean-_why_?" She was still groggy, the dots not quite lining up in her mind.

"'Course. Now hurry up and put the damned thing on and I'll remind you."

"I-guess," Maka said slowly as she rose.

She wanted to protest, really she did, but sometimes it was easier to give in to the little things and punish him for them later if he'd earned it, so she went to her room and changed into the contents of the box on her bed. The skin tight black catsuit and red wig should have tipped her off, but it had been a long week, so she just stormed out, hands on her hips

Soul let out a low whistle at her approach, his eyes scanning her body-a gesture she pointedly ignored.

"Alright, spill. Why am I dressed like a ninja street walker?"

"Black Widow, and I'm pretty sure I told you we were going to the opening."

"Wait-what opening?" She was confused, but a faint memory tickled.

"_Winter Soldier_? We need to leave soon, too, if we want decent-"

"_That's_ what this is about?" Maka was pretty sure she hadn't actually committed to going, but that was beyond her ability to rationalize clearly as she began to laugh. And laugh. And _laugh_. She collapsed onto the couch next to him, practically on top of him, clutching her belly, her head ending up in his lap as she giggled uncontrollably.

After a time, he finally growled, "_What_?" and she just shook her head in his lap and giggled some more.

It took several minutes of tittering laughter for her to regain her composure, and even then, it was tentative, like grasping at the thinnest of straws.

"And you-call me-a nerd," she wheezed out.

"You are," Soul returned petulantly.

"Pot," she giggled again. "Meet kettle. Or rather, vintage book, meet skin tight star spangled leather-have you forgotten you want to go to a midnight premier in _Cosplay_?" He grimaced at her use of the word, and she laughed again at his expression and at her own joke before managing to sit up and shake her head. "Anyway, amusing as this is, I never agreed to go."

"But-"

"But _nothing_. Blake really kicked my ass earlier and I'm exhausted."

"Aw, come _on_, Maka. _Please_?" His eyes were wide and pleading as he turned his head to her. The puppy dog eyes. Oh lord, he was giving her _the puppy dog eyes._

"I said no," she resisted valiantly. Even if he looked both pathetic and-she refused to admit-sexy in the skin tight leather. "And anyway, you're the Prince of Liechtenstein. Isn't there some sort or rule against you dressing as Captain _America_?" she asked skeptically.

"Nope," the Prince insisted. "Not like anyone really knows where I am anyway, but no one gives a shit. So please? I'll even-rub your feet for a week."

"Last time you said a month."

"Fine, a month!"

"No," Maka said flatly.

"Six months," he pleaded.

"No."

"A year!" Soul was clearly getting desperate.

"_NOPE_!"

"Fine, _fine_-" he threw up his hands. "-_the rest of the time we live together!_"

Maka paused, considering. She'd already planned to give in-if it was this important to him, she really couldn't say no-and this was simply too good to pass up. Spoiled Prince though he might he, he was also a god of foot rubs.

She side eyed him, deciding to press her advantage. "And you never call me Tiny Tits again."

He shook his head. "Maka, I haven't called you that since-"

"Do you agree or not?"

"I agree," he sighed.

"Prince's Honor?"

He rolled his eyes. "Prince's Honor, whatever."

"Sold!" she exclaimed.

Soul blinked at her. "Really?" His tone was so fond, so hopeful, that it melted her heart right in her chest.

"Yep!" Maka said happily. "Really, really!" She sprang up off the couch, tugging his hand. "Now let's go, Captain Asshole, Prince of Geeks-we won't get a good place if we don't hurry!"

And so they went.

True to his word, the Prince rubbed her feet after every training session through the duration of their time together, and while she occasionally continued calling him the Prince of Geeks, he never called her Tiny Tits again.


	3. Prince of Fic

**A/N: Inspiration struck hard and fast today, so this gets a little update with more to come. Thanks go to Lucy, Howl, and Jaks for the eyes, and to everyone who encouraged me to finally update.**

* * *

She was lying on her stomach in the middle of the living room floor, feet swinging in the air lazily as she eyed her laptop, trying to stifle the occasional snicker or eyeroll.

Then she found it.

Maka opened the thing, figuring it would be more disgusting smut about the elder Prince, hopefully not more incest with Soul, and started skimming. A few paragraphs in, she shook her head and scoffed.

"Is this-about us?" she asked incredulously. Soul was on the couch studying, ridiculously oversized orange headphones on, so she expected no answer. She got one anyway.

"Is what about us?" Maka heard shuffling and suddenly he was squatting beside her, leaning over to look at her laptop. His earphones were off so she must have caught him in a rare moment where he would hear.

"This." She waved a hand at the laptop. "It's a fanfic about, well, _you_ actually, but the other ones were all focused on your brother and _really_ gross actually-but this is-" She shook her head; it was just so _strange_.

"Wait, why are you reading things about me?" His pale eyebrows were practically at his hairline.

She wrinkled her nose. "We were talking about fanfiction in my modern lit class, and the idea it exists for famous people came up and-I don't know-I was curious, shut up." She huffed, indignant at his loud guffaw.

"You wanted to read about me?" She smacked his arm at the eyebrow waggle.

"I was curious!" Her face felt hot. "And anyway, most of it is about your brother."

"'Course it is." He sounded resigned.

"And it's-well it's wrong, to project on real people like that!"

This was greeted with a shrug. "Seriously, Maka, let the kids have their fun with dreamy Prince Wes." He fluttered his eyelashes comically and she laughed, then hit his arm again.

"But this one isn't about Wes. It's about you. And it's not like the weird emo vampire one I saw earlier, it's-" Another head shake. "I think this person knows you. Or us."

"Seriously?" He frowned, crossing his arms on his knees, looking pensive.

"Well, I mean, the names aren't right, but some of the details really make it seem that way-though I would never put up with you for minimum wage." She rolled her eyes and he scoffed.

"Put up with me?"

"You are sort of a pain in my ass, Mr. Getting-Up-Before-Nine-is-Early."

He shrugged again. "Not my fault you like to get up at the asscrack of dawn. Anyway, what's it about?"

Her nose wrinkled in distaste for a second time. "Not much. It's setting up a larger story. But I'm only a few paragraphs in; if you'll let me actually _read it _I can tell you."

"Fine, fine, have at it Ms. Detective."

Ignoring the small dig, she kept reading. As Soul occasionally chuffed over her shoulder, she figured he was reading, too. After a minute she sat up and put it in her lap, sitting next to him to make it easier on them both.

She wasn't two pages in before she scoffed.

"Okay, how does the professor not know who's in his class? Rosters are a thing, _hello_."

Soul snorted. "Oh, I don't know, maybe he couldn't be arsed to check the roster."

"But he'll call the registrar's office?"

"Point."

A minute later she was indignant again. "I am _not_ like that!"

"Like what?"

"Some-uptight recluse who lives to study!"

His response was to laugh. "If the shoe fits-"

"I go out, Soul. Just because I don't spend all my free time playing video games doesn't make me some sort of antisocial weirdo."

"You _do_ study a lot-" He was grinning.

"Then I suppose you're _actually_ a fuckboy class clown?"

"Nooooo, I-"

"Exactly. This is stupid."

He didn't respond and they both kept reading.

"Oh my god-_You-_at a _frat party? _You-_suave? _Someone has you confused with Prince Harry. Next thing you know they'll have us hooking up on Horsebarn Hill."

Soul groaned. "That guy is such an ass."

"And you're not?"

"Not like _that_, Maka." He sounded absolutely indignant.

"I'll give you that."

"And anyway, the hooking up part sounds fun." Another eyebrow waggle, another arm punch. "Kidding, _kidding_." He put up his hands placatingly. "You know I don't do horse shit."

"I _know_ you learned to ride a horse and other such princely endeavors, _highness_."

"Doesn't mean I actually liked it," he grumbled. "A damn frat party sounds more fun."

"I'd sooner end up at a frat party than you and you know it, this is absurd. And _my god! _Our friends aren't _that_ bad. I mean, okay, Star is sometimes, but _still_." She frowned then. "Should we be worried about this?"

His shrug surprised her. "It's sort of funny. Wonder who wrote it? I'd say they're more obsessed with you than me. Should have a field day with Spring Fling."

"That's right, we are going, aren't we." She sighed, closing her laptop in irritation.

"You agreed. And it's this weekend and-shit, you need a dress! How could I have forgotten? We can-"

"Stop panicking, I got one with Liz and Tsu last weekend. BJ insisted I use the platinum card, and before you get too worried or excited or whatever, I rejected a dozen of their picks before we found one so _no_, I _won't_ be looking like J-Lo at an awards show." His relief was palpable, but he also seemed just the slightest bit disappointed.

"Spoilsport."

Her raised eyebrows were answer enough.

"Anyway, I think I'll pass on doing my paper on fanfiction. If it's all like this I'd rather donate my body to Professor Stein. At least he'd probably leave my brain intact. This stuff will kill every last brain cell."

"Probably."

Maka stood, swiping up her laptop, and grinned down at him. "Which is why you shouldn't read it either. You don't have much to spare."

Laughing at his scowl, she flounced off into her own room, forgetting about the mystery of the horrendous fanfic in favor of thinking about Spring Fling and just what it might be like to dance with Soul.


End file.
